


Alphabet Soup Poetry

by Arsenic



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Dick is crap at just asking when he needs help.  Good thing Jason had a question of his own to ask.





	Alphabet Soup Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xserenity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xserenity/gifts).



> Hi recip/friend -- so, since the challenge was cancelled and I'm a little buried (over-committed) by other fic demands, I didn't have this beta'ed, for which I apologize. I hope the A/B/O dynamics are present enough for you, and that you enjoy my take on your prompt. I had a ton of fun writing this, so thanks for being my recipient, one way or another.
> 
> A few canon-related notes: so, technically, timeline-wise, I guess this is somewhere in Rebirth, because Jason's team is the Rebirth team, but I haven't erased his time with the N52 team. In my head, Barbara is always Oracle, will always be Oracle, that's just a thing, I don't care about the reality of it. Additionally, Jason's origin is always his pre-Crisis origin for me, not that it really matters in this story, but there you have it.

As a general rule, Jason avoids Bludhaven, both in costume and out of it. There are exceptions, sure, but that's Dick's territory by day and Nightwing's by night, and for all the water under all the bridges between them, Jason knows what it is to want to define your own space. Also, while he would never say this aloud to Dick—because he's an asshole, but he's not _that_ kind of asshole—Jason's well aware that particular desire is probably a thousand times more imperative as an omega. So yeah, he stays out of Bludhaven.

However, Jason's pretty sure he's got an omega-smuggler on his hands in the Narrows, and if you want information about omega smugglers, you go to Dick. There's also the whole thing where Jason stopped making Dick come to him after he realized Dick thought it was an orientation power play. Shit, Jason stopped making Steph, Tim, and Duke come to him after that, and they were all betas.

All of which means: he's in Bludhaven. It's dusk, so Dick will have gotten off shift, but won't be out on patrol yet. Jason can climb in Dick's window, get what he needs, and get out. Easy.

Or, it should be. Jason knows he's miscalculated the second he slips inside Dick's apartment and gets hit with the scent of fever. It's not even the kind of smell that suggests someone's been holed up in the apartment with a virus for a few days. It's stark, the way blood is, heat instead of copper, but visceral all the same.

Jason calls, "Dick?"

He's not really surprised when there's no answer. If Jason were sick and one of the family intruded on his space, it'd probably end with gun shots. Possibly fatal ones.

He moves quietly into the apartment. It's a one bed/one bath, and Dick's here. Jason's always been able to sense Dick, even when he was twelve, hadn't hit puberty yet, and didn't understand anything about the push-pull that happened between some alphas and omegas. Jason glances in the bedroom, but Dick's not there.

Jason presses his ear to the bathroom door and hears the shower running. He considers his options and in the end, chooses a warning shot. "Dickiebird, I came by to talk business."

"J-Jason?"

Jason isn't much for panic. It's useless, and also, both Bruce and Talia's tutors scorched it right out of him. The fact that Dick hasn't felt his presence, hasn't heard someone moving around in the apartment? It sends a jolt of panic down Jason's spine. "Yeah, Dick, it's me."

"Jason," Dick says, less like a question this time, but also not like a greeting. More like someone who thinks they might be delirious and talking to themself.

Jason walks away from the door and lets himself pace. He counts to ten, then counts backwards to one. Then he stands by the door and says, "I'm coming in, Dick."

The door's not locked. Jason expects to get hit with a face full of steam. Instead, the bathroom is perfectly temperate, which means—

Jason yanks back the shower curtain and turns off the water, which is indeed frigid. He murmurs, "fuck," and grabs the nearest towel, thankfully a bath-mat sized monstrosity he can wrap Dick in and pull him out of the shower. Dick is curled up in a nearly fetal position, so it's not easy, but he also doesn't fight Jason, letting himself be manhandled. His skin is cold, breathing shallow, and Jason can still smell the fever on him. 

"Jay," Dick murmurs, falling against Jason, who thankfully was expecting it. Jason might be bigger than Dick, but Dick's all densely packed muscle and bone.

"Yeah, I'm here," Jason says, because he's not sure what Dick needs to hear, and that seems as good as anything. He gets Dick as dry as he can, then sits him on the floor, afraid Dick might fall off of anything higher.

It takes longer than Jason would like to find a clean pair of sheets and change the bed, but he manages, and even finds some boxers and a t-shirt in the bargain. Dick's asleep against the wall, shivering with the fever, when Jason returns. Jason gets him in the shorts and shirt, and basically drags him into the bed, tucking him tightly underneath as many blankets as Jason could find.

Dick still makes a mewling noise and fishes a hand out to latch on to Jason's arm. Jason freezes. On the one hand, it's just body warmth. On the other hand, this isn't the flu. Jason knows the chemical smell of a suppressant change all-too-well. All alphas and omegas have to deal with them every now and then. You're not supposed to do it alone, there's too much that can go wrong. 

But if there's one thing Dick Grayson is enormously shitty at, it's asking for help for himself. The others? Sure, in a second. Himself? Yeah, no. 

Jason doesn't have a problem staying, if he's honest with himself. It's that hormone levels get a little weird during a changeover, and Jason's not sure if Dick wants him in the bed because he's got a chill and wants some body heat, or because his hormones are telling him he wants to fuck anything that passes near enough.

Dick shudders again and says, "Jaybird, Jay," and Jason bites his lip, then throws caution to the wind. If he has to fight Dick off, he's at least in possession of his full strength and all his faculties. He toes off his shoes and climbs under the covers. 

Dick latches on like an eight-limbed sloth and promptly passes out. Jason runs a hand through Dick's hair, laughs softly, and decides a nap's not the worst idea ever.

*

Jason wakes up to the omega he's warming trying to worm out of his grasp and growls.

"Really?" Dick says.

Jason's eyes fly open to see Dick lifting one eyebrow at him. He lets go immediately, but responds with a nasty look, since that's not cool. Jason would like to see the alpha who could keep complete control of their hormones in a bed with unsuppressed omega not even wearing any deodorant. 

Dick acknowledges the justice in Jason's Glare of Death by leaning over and kissing his forehead. He says, "I'll be lucid for the next few hours, and I promise to get myself into bed before the fever spikes again. Thanks for the assist."

Jason makes a noise of disbelief and says, "Yeah, okay Grayson, sure."

"Jason—"

"For fuck's sake, Dick. Even I call Roy or _someone_ when I have to dry out and transition."

"Sure, now."

Jason stiffens at the hit. Dick winces. "That actually wasn't how I meant it. I didn't—I just meant the first time you ever did it in the Manor, Alfred found you in the bathtub, lying in your own vomit because you were afraid if you let either of them know you needed a switch they'd boot you out."

Jason takes a deep breath. "I only did that once, Dick. And I did it out of a weighing of options. I didn't do it because I…" Jason takes a stab, "Because I didn't want to inconvenience anyone."

The faint flush that appears on Dick's cheeks tells Jason he's guessed right. Jason has to contain the urge to growl again, and this time it's not from being overloaded on pheromones. It takes a few deep breaths, but he manages to say, "Get back in bed."

Dick tilts his head. "Gonna make me?"

Jason swallows back the intense wave of _yes_ that rolls over him in response to that question. Instead he says, "I outweigh you by fifty pounds of pure muscle, and I'm betting you haven't eaten in close to twelve hours. Get. Back. In. Bed."

Dick blinks. Jason says, "You're not an inconvenience," and okay, it probably comes out partly growl.

Dick says, "Jay—" but Jason's on his feet, now, one hand on Dick's cheek, bringing them together into a kiss. He keeps the other hand at his side, gives Dick room to escape. Dick doesn't, though, if anything, he curls into Jason, opens himself into the kiss. It calms Jason enough that when he pulls away, resting his forehead against Dick's, he can say, "Not an inconvenience," without sounding like a Neanderthal.

"Mm," Dick says, fisting his hands in Jason's t-shirt. Jason uses the point of contact to herd Dick back into the bed. Dick goes without much of a fight.

*

Jason often doesn't spend much time considering what it means to be an alpha. He keeps himself on suppressants to make certain he doesn't go into rut, and so there are inevitably the times, just like omegas on suppressants, when he has to switch types, or even just detox for a few weeks and let nature run its course. And sure, he's the lead of his team, but more because Roy was too much of a mess at the time they teamed up to think about taking point and Kori just kind of went with the flow. Not because Roy was a beta and Kori, not being human, didn't have a specific designation.

And honestly, most days, he's pretty sure it's actually Artemis running the show now. She just lets him consider himself team leader out of…probably for the amusement it brings. So, basically, Jason lives his life in terms of what he does and the people around him and doesn't worry too much about societal folktales of hierarchy. 

But fucked if Jason isn't experiencing the most intense need to provide for Dick Grayson as an alpha would for its omega. Like, honestly, if he doesn't get some food in Dick in the next few hours, some food Jason himself has made, he's pretty sure he's going to lose his mind. His lizard brain is going bananas.

It's a problem, because Jason has discovered that Dick has no basic ingredients in his kitchen and Jason _also_ freaks out every time he so much as thinks about leaving. There's a bodega on the corner, for Christ's sake, and Jason can't make himself go. He's tried. Three times.

After the third time, when he's standing right inside Dick's door, panting from residual panic, he mutters, "Motherfucker," and calls Babs. She'll give him shit about it, so much shit, but she'll also find a way to get ingredients delivered, and when it really matters, Jason can put his needs above his pride.

He shouldn't be surprised by the fact that she picks up with, "How's Dick?"

"Another twenty-four hours he'll be fine, but I want to get some food in him. I was gonna make that stupid alphabet soup he loves."

"I'm guessing he has a grand total of something like a half-empty jar of peanut butter and a package of instant coffee at his place?" she asks.

"You forgot the stash of Skittles, but yeah, pretty much."

"Text me what you need, I'll get it to you."

Jason is silent for a second. Then, "That's it?"

"I mean, I fully expect to be the Best Man and therefore have first shot at roasting the hell out of both of you, but yeah, Jay, that's it. Take care of him."

"We're not—"

"Oh lord," Babs says, and hangs up before he can continue to lie to her. Which, yeah, okay, fair enough.

*

Jason lets himself melt into the act of making the soup. It's one of the things Alfred taught him how to make, taking him through it step by step, and even if the methodic feel of cooking didn't generally calm Jason—which it did—that sense memory would have. When he's set it to simply stay warm, he crawls back in bed with Dick, who's still sleeping, but whose fever is waning. Dick snuggles in, mumbling in his sleep. Jason can't make out the words. He doubts in matters. He soothes a hand down Dick's back.

It isn't as if this has come out of nowhere. Sure, Jason would like to pretend it has, that doesn't mean it actually has. Babs is observant, not omniscient. That doesn't make it any less sticky. And Dick will smile and say something completely idiotic like, "We'll work it out," so Jason's going to have to be the adult in the room.

And to think he once thought Dick was so grown up. Dick Grayson wouldn't know the meaning of adulting if Daniel Webster himself sat down to explain it, with the devil providing backup.

Dick grumbles, "Are you thinking? It feels like you're thinking."

"Some of us have to, occasionally," Jason says, feeling very much as though his point has been proven.

Dick makes a disgruntled noise before stilling. "Do I smell soup?"

"I even put in the alphabet noodles, so you can spell dirty words to complete the experience."

"Sometimes I do word poetry," Dick tells him, quite loftily.

"With dirty words," Jason says.

Dick snorts. "You're one to talk, potty mouth."

"You weren't complaining when my tongue was halfway down your throat."

Dick huffs and pushes Jason on his back. "I wasn't, was I?"

Jason doesn't struggle, allows Dick to loom over him. "No."

"No," Dick agrees, and lowers his mouth to Jason's. "I wasn't."

Jason stills. He was the one to move first last time. It's Dick's turn to take the lead. Dick nips at Jason's lower lip, enough to sting, not enough to hurt. He sucks on the skin and says, "I'm going to devour you."

Jason opens himself up to Dick, altogether an invitation, on the edge of a dare.

*

It's dusk when they both surface from the haze of lazy handjobs, finally-resolved sexual tension, and necking that could probably compete for an Olympic medal. Jason bites at Dick's earlobe and says, "C'mon. Bath time."

Dick is malleable enough, letting Jason sit him on the edge of the tub and pour him in when the water is right. Jason had been planning on washing Dick from his position outside the bath, but Dick tugs at him mutely, and Jason rolls over and shows his belly. Or, well, gets in and cleans every inch of Dick's body.

It's a type of intimacy different from the one they just shared, quieter. Jason loses himself in it, the heat of the water, Dick's skin beneath his fingers. He pulls them out and dries them off, wrapping both of them together in one of Dick's ridiculously large towels. Dick laughs; kisses him.

Jason steals some of Dick's sweats. They're tight in the shoulders and short in the legs, but worn in and soft. They eat soup, Dick moaning on the first bite and saying, "Jesus, it's like you're actually Alfred's kid," and putting together the "word poetry:" "ur penys iz lov."

"You're a noble laureate in disguise," Jason tells him, and gets him a second bowl.

*

That night, when Dick's fever has broken, and Jason has brought up the second pair of sheets from the basement, where he'd thrown them in the building's laundry, Jason mentions, "Babs said she'd only get me the stuff for the soup if we made her Best Man at the wedding. She drives a hard bargain, but I couldn't have you deprived of the tools of your creative trade."

Dick nods thoughtfully. "Guess that makes Bizarro the Maid of Honor."

Jason throws the last pillow on the bed, and then, Dick. Dick laughs, landing on his back. Jason says, "Sounds about right," and crawls in after him.


End file.
